I’d always known wedding planning would be stressful, but I never imagined I’d end up looking like a punk rock reject two days before walking down the aisle.
The whole mess started during what I’d dubbed “Wedding Week,” when Linda dropped by our apartment unannounced almost every day to “help” with last-minute details.
She’d been picking at every decision since Ryan proposed, from the venue (“Oh, a backyard wedding? How… quaint.”) to the menu (“Buffet style? Well, I suppose some people prefer casual.”) to the flowers (“Wildflowers? How… rustic.”).
It was driving both of us insane, but Linda’s passive-aggressive remarks made it impossible to confront her. Click below for the entire stotry
